Ocean's Extra
by JaidenAye
Summary: After Linus screwed up the pinch theft, Basher finds a solution that leaves Rusty in a bit of a bind.
1. Prologue

The first time Rusty met Harry Potter, _the _Harry Potter, he entirely forgot about it.

Granted, Harry was not wearing his own face that night as they flirted by the pool table and he did not stay long after his hand had found two of the blonde's loose hairs. If Rusty got some compliments on a bank heist he didn't recall and a few strange looks in Atlanta, he didn't bring it up.

Second time, Harry showed his own face with a different name. That night Rusty would remember, despite the smattering of cheap whiskey. He awoke to a cracked hotel ceiling accosting his eyes and a gorgeous cock burned into his brain. Though the alcohol dulled his senses, if he closed his eyes he could still feel skin under his fingertips, a tongue running the length of his neck and heat everywhere.

Rusty was not unfamiliar to casual sex, stranger sex or even creep-out-while-their-still-blacked-out sex, even took a bit of pride in his one-offs, but he wanted another night with the man from the night before. With one barrier. Despite his aching dick and the vivid memories of pleasure, Rusty still did not remember Harry Potter's face or been given his name. And certainly not a phone number.


	2. At First

Linus tucked his head down and tried to disappear. Clearly it wasn't working as he could still feel the glares of the rest of the team bearing down on his head. Yen's hand had swollen like an indignant pufferfish and though it didn't have eyes, it seemed equally accusatory.

As usual, Danny spoke first, "All you had was one job, one task. If I say stay in the van, _you stay in the van. _Cause if you lose your focus for one second in this game,_ someone gets hurt._"

Yen began his own contribution in the form of some very angry sounding strings of Chinese (or was it Cantonese?) even as the Mormon brothers combined their petty rage to target someone other than each other.

And Linus tried _very_ hard to become Superman and turn back time.

Or the Invisible Man. Whatever works.

For it seemed, though Linus was adept at lifting things from pockets and tables, breaking and entering remained outside of his skill set. As he was a superb runner, this wouldn't have been a problem normally. If Linus had chosen to disobey orders a minute later, the pinch would be theirs and his excellent running capabilities would have allowed for even a messy escape. But as it stood, they had driven to California in the dead of night only to be fucked over by Caldwell Jr's supreme lack of timing. Leaving them paying for gas, the Malloy brother's copious amounts of 'necessary road food', a wounded greaseman and no pinch to take home.

By now, the Malloys had forgotten about the whole problem.

Basher was pissed.

Danny looked on the combusting side of stress.

Yen was certain that at least half of the obscene number of hand bones he had were broken.

And Linus wondered what life was like for a very small creature, like a mouse or bumblebee that stayed out of everyone's way and never had to worry about pissing off its friends.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until they had nearly reached Vegas that Basher broke the silence, grabbing all of their attention.<p>

"I could try and call in a favour. I know a bloke from England who could wipe the power just as well, we worked a couple jobs in Europe, Barclays and Danske. He won't be cheap as that pinch was, but he can be here quick and we won't have to change the plan."

Danny halted his glare at Linus to turn to Basher, "You sure he'll come?"

"I don't see any reason why he wouldn't, he likes seeing creative jobs and this one's pretty nutty. Besides, he owes me for taking the Metropolitan job last minute."

"The Met? You guys took the Met?" Linus' voice only cracked a little.

"Yeah, mostly from the Asian collections, but I think he had a couple boys going through the Greek and Roman side."

"The _Met?_" Just a bit of a squeak.

"That's what I said, innit?"

Linus had a firm grasp on his vocal chords now, "I thought that job was a rumor. I went in after and they had all the pieces on display."

"Probably put up imitations for visitors. No one quite likes to announce they've been robbed."

Danny spoke up again, "And how fast did you say he could be in Vegas?"

"Fast as he needs to be."

"And you're sure he can do the job?"

Basher gave a small chuckle, "He works magic."

* * *

><p>Basher's friend did not answer the phone the first, second or even the ninth time. Nor was there ever a message left on his voicemail. Somewhere past the point where Virgil could count the calls on his fingers, a voice answered the phone in an buzzingly annoyed sort of tone.<p>

"Hey, it's Basher, you on a job right now?"

The voice muttered something back to the Brit.

"No. Don't need that. Listen, I got in a bit of trouble over here. Thought the crew had it covered, but this young git blew some of the prep."

A buzz.

"Nah, real new, still working out the ropes, be quite a set of hands once he learns to work with a team."

A question.

"Oh, yeah, some good raw talent. Just seen him do some casual shite, for fun, yeah? But real good. You interested?"

Linus perked up in the back, seeing if he could listen in. He didn't typically get complimented and new business was always better than working the subway all day. Commuters were the most boring people to walk the planet.

"Could see for yourself if you come down. All we need is a quick problem solved. We were gonna use a pinch, but since we can't use anymore we got to find an alternative method of wiping out some power for a maybe a minute. Can you do it?"

The voice hesitated before speaking once more. Basher deliberated over it as if the voice had posed a difficult math problem, turning it over in his mind before replying.

"Vegas. The take of three casinos in one vault. Ridiculous security. It's a pretty wild plan. You'd have to be nearly strictly... traditional for this job. You could use whatever you want for the blackout, but if you felt like hanging around during the rest of prep... They don't- _know _you. Except for the Met thing."

The man on the other side of the line says something fast to which Basher replied, "Kanagawazas!" And laughed loudly. Then hung up.

"He'll do it?" Danny queried.

"Eh, we'll see. He'll at least come to visit, drink and see Linus make a few lifts."

Danny let out a quiet groan he thought no one else heard. In the back of the van, Linus lifted his head and puffed out his chest a bit like a rooster, corner of shame now effectively forgotten.


	3. The Morning After, The Not Pill Kind

Ever since the disappearance of Harry Potter from the Wizarding World, Harry kept his magic either low-key or wandless, only letting loose when he was completely certain that it was safe. Though the Trace was removed from the holly wand at his majority, Harry had never really trusted the Ministry. Even less when he was never removed from the spot at 'Undesirable No.1' after the completion of the war.

It was one thing to sleep in a tent to escape Voldemort's government, another to flee from the people he gave his life for.

Hermione kept reading law books and reassuring him until her eyes were solid red, both from tears and insomnia while Ron repeated words until the mantras turned to pudding in his ears.

"We'll fight it! Bloody hell, if they think they can pull this over on the hero of the Wizarding World..."

"Oh, don't worry, Harry. We'll find a way, there's got to be something here, I'll find it..."

"Bleedin' government think they can pull this while everyone's still scared! Too bad we can't bring V-Voldemort back. Lock him in there with them and see how long before they start crying for help..."

"The injustice of it! Who do they think they are, treating you like this after all you've done! Just give me a few more days, I know it's in here, somewhere..."

Day after day, week after week.

All Harry could think about was the engagement ring sitting on Hermione's finger while she flipped desperately through musty tomes. There was no joy and celebration anymore. Mrs. Weasley should have been fluttering about the house with stacks of catalogs, flowers and swathes of fabric. Ginny would have arranged flowers and made Ron blush that obscene shade of scarlet. Mr. Weasley should have been quizzing his future daughter-in-law about muggle wedding traditions while Hermione desperately tried to keep her sarcasm in check.

Maybe kids soon, little tots with bushy heads of hair, faces full of freckles. Hermione glowing, belly full of child.

So one day when Hermione was lost in a stack of books and Ron paced frantic circles around her, Harry stood up, told them how much he loved them and left.

It was abrupt, ugly. Hermione wept big crocodile tears on his shoulder from her red, red eyes. Ron stood silent, but he sent a Howler the following week.

Harry didn't like it anymore than his best friends, but he did what he thought was right. It wasn't fair for him to hold their life back.

In the muggle world, he had Mundungus get hold of a man good with forging records and when he was there he thought, _Why stop with just making a life for Harry Potter?_ A personal history and three fake ID's later, Harry Potter walked out of that rundown building transformed, free.

He could do _anything_ he so desired.

* * *

><p>Harry hung up his custom charmed cellphone after his conversation with Basher.<p>

Basher had been with him from nearly the beginning of his chosen career. They met on Harry's second heist, a rather risky plan at Barclays that could have dealt with some more brainpower on it.

Harry and Basher had gotten split off from the rest of the group during get away after a particularly dull teammate completely mistimed the police response. Then a newbie on the crew got the jitters after hearing sirens and took off in the boat before the last three of them could get in. The other ditched man, Daniels, ran towards the mall, followed by the bobbies while Basher and Harry took advantage of the opportunity, strolling down North Colonade until they reached a 24 hour dry cleaning shop to hide in.

Desperate situations tend to bond people.

So does hunting down ex-crew members and making them regret the 3 hours you spent talking to a squat Indian man with an accent as thick as lard.

But even without the messy robbery that was Barclays, Harry thought that he and Basher still would have hit it off like two grindylows with gillyweed. Other than the fact that Basher himself was a squib raised by his equally squibbish aunt, they understood each other on a personal, comfortable level that would have Harry _all_ over his fellow Brit if only Basher had had the good decency to be born less ramrod straight than a streetlamp. As tragically heterosexual as he was, however, Basher was still a terrific man to have on crew. With good sense, humour and a wonderful talent for making things go 'boom', he was on Harry's very selective list of favorite people.

It had been a while since their last job together, though, and besides, muggles or no muggles he was _not_ passing up a Vegas theft. Casinos there were tighter than Uncle Vernon's belt. And as he had only grown horizontally for the past 25 years, that was a rather powerful statement.

So. Visiting a good friend that liked to blow things up? Yes.

Meeting a potential crew member, still fresh from most of the silly training errors? Yes.

Watching a never-before-successful-some-would-say-impossible job? Hell yes.

Transcontinental apparation was a power-eating bitch of a journey, but it would be worth the trouble. If nothing else, he could sit in for a good game of poker and come back to the UK happy. And by 'happy', read 'a couple thousand richer'.

* * *

><p>In the morning, there was a knock on the hotel suite door.<p>

Turk, who had fallen asleep on the couch, groaned first, "We don't need any towels. Thank you, come again."

"I'm not here to change the bed or tuck you in, I assure you. You called for me?" The man on the other side of the door announced.

"Guuuuuys! Did anyone order food?" A chorus of mumbles and curses called back to Turk. "We didn't order any stinkin' food, go away." Punctuated by a thud as something small but heavy hit the wall beside the door. "No sense of decorum at all."

"I'm not room service... bloody Americans," he trailed off as Turk's snores began again in earnest. Harry pulled out his cellphone and dialed Basher's number, quietly grumbling.

Sprawled out on his bed, Bash buried his head into the down pillow to seek solace from the logger man snores Turk had begun emitting. Suddenly his cell rang, jerking him out of his sleep and sending hiim diving to the nightstand.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Basher."

"Harry! You here already?"

"Outside your hotel door, actually. I'm assuming this is your base of operations as there's some git that's not you telling me to bring the towels later."

Basher didn't say anything before he hung up and threw the phone on the bed. Normally, Harry would have taken offense, but he made an exception as he could already hear an enraged Brit storming on the other side of the door, "You absolute_ tosser!_ I call in a favour for you! Something goes wrong and I went out find you an expert! A _professional!_ He crosses the _ocean_ to help us! Putting aside his own life, commitments and jobs to fly around the bleedin' planet after one of us bollocks up! And what do you do? Tell him _we don't need towels?_"

Harry could just discern a light _thunk _and some quick mumbling before the door flew open and he had been encased in a firm man-hug.

"Sorry about this one, Harry. I suspect he ran into doors as a child. The rest of the blokes aren't as touched, I promise."

"Not touched or not as touched?"

"Not as. I reckon we all have to be a little mad in this line of work."


	4. Aftershocks of Alcohol Memory Loss

Danny Ocean was not a morning person. He liked his heists at night, sometimes well into the morning. And after spending his evening swindling card players, planning multi-million dollar thefts or (lately) storming in Righteous Anger over his wife, _ex-_wife, and her new boyfriend, Danny thought himself entitled to to a nice lie-in in the mornings.

His first impression of Mr. Potter, then, was rather groggy and clouded by his sleepy fury at whichever dolt couldn't be quiet long enough to let him nap off the mild hangover he had achieved from the mini bar while practicing his Righteous Anger. Mr. Potter seemed a little short for the images Basher had talked into his head and his head was very fuzzy looking to Danny's still bed-bleary eyes.

_ No,_ he thought, blinking, _not fuzzy, just wild._

Even though Mr. Potter was shorter than he had expected, there was an air of confidence about the man that made it hard to place his age. In fact, if the two Brits had not been standing side by side, Danny did not know if he would have noticed the height difference, a thought which he found a bit distracting as it was a necessity in his chosen career to pick up on details that others might afford to pass by.

A gut feeling told Danny that this man could lose himself in a crowd.

Until the newcomer looked up. His eyes were green. Very much so. Distinct and wonderfully _green_.

_But even those,_ he mused,_ with some brown contacts could turn a shade off from hazel._

Hazel didn't catch your eye in a mob.

This new guy was the kind of stunning that could cloak itself, bend and distort to be what it needed to be.

Danny'd bet his week's winnings that this guy knew how to change the way he moved, walked. And though he still looked a bit fuzzy to his own sleepy eyes, Danny knew without a doubt that this guy was a professional, down to the soles of his feet.

The newest recruit sauntered over to him, hand out.

"Mr. Ocean, I presume?"

Resisting the urge to rub at his eyes like a child, Danny replied, "Yes. And you are the Harry Potter that Basher has been talking up?"

"Yes, I am _the_ Harry Potter." A glimmer of amusement passed through his eyes, "I hope I can live up to whatever tripe he's been pumping your head with. Easily impressed, that one."

"Oy! Don't talk about me like I'm some sort of crazed fangirl. Right here, you know." Basher piped up, crossing his arms.

"Quite, love," Harry crooned, "I'll stoke your ego later. Now, be a doll and let me talk to the nice gentleman."

Danny watched with a sort of humor born of mild confusion, wondering how the next few days would pan out.

"Well, I understand you've come a long way to get here, Mr. Potter-"

"Harry, if you would."

"Harry, we're very grateful you could pull this on such short notice. As you've probably been informed, we need a widespread power outage for approximately 30 seconds without it going out for more than a couple minutes, do you already have a method chosen? We have purchased all the rest of the materials already, but we can see what can be shipped last minute if you are in need of anything."

"Mr. Ocean, please. I keep the materials necessary for this kind of thing on me all the time, I would not require any additional tools or supplies. Though, to be fair, I have never formally agreed to take on this job."

* * *

><p>Rusty stared at Ocean, incredulous. Making sure to sound out his words, "You mean to say that he flew across the <em>ocean,<em> _overnight,_ to tell us that he'll _think_ about it?"

"That's pretty much the gist of it. Then he told me he'd be calling Basher after he hit up some tables and walked out the door." Danny sighed, swishing the coffee in his cup in slow circles. "If he doesn't take it, we're kind of screwed."

"Can't Livingston hack the power company? Or Basher put a timed charge on a generator?"

"Livingston's spread too thin, between keeping the spider hack under the radar and dealing with the brothers for the van, he can't be close enough to the station to be effective. If Basher blows things up, it shows the cops that something's going on. By himself, Benedict will most likely choose to keep the theft under wraps and deal with it himself, but outside property goes boom, we have an investigation. Messiness. Loose ends. Besides, we need the power back on after the outage in order to finish the job."

"I hate relying on outside people," Rusty moaned.

"I think he'll take it. I hope he does. He's good."

Rusty raised a brow, "You saw this shaking his hand while rubbing sleep out of your eyes?"

"He had that air. You know what I mean, I haven't seen him work, but I bet he'll be a master. He should be at the Bellagio right about now. I'd be watching right now if it wouldn't seem as if I were snooping."

"So you want me to snoop, that's it?"

"Well, I'm not going to tell you what to do."

"But you want me to snoop."

Danny took a sip of coffee, savoring the caffeine as it wound it way through his veins.

"Okay, I'll snoop."

Danny took another sip of coffee, smirking into the cup as Rusty worked his way to the suite door.

* * *

><p>Rusty walked into the Bellagio, strolling with his chips while trying to act like he knew where he was going. Past the craps tables, slot machines. Examining a poker table, Rusty realized he had no idea what the new guy, Harry Potter, looked like and he was damned if he would walk anymore than he had to for this British bastard.<p>

He sat at nearby table with a brunette young man and a couple older gentlemen who had 'retirement party' written all over their faces. Probably cops. Cops always forked over cash like they handed out tickets, ridiculously generously.

The dealer slid a hand over.

Rusty played a hand before deciding that this Potter business needed to get done before he could have play time.

As Rusty dug for his phone to call Danny to get a description, he raked his eyes once more over the crowd, willing the guy to leap out at him with the force of his mind.

_What do British people look like?_ He thought to himself, _Bad teeth, right? Uptight. Tea. Pale. They don't get a whole lot of sun, right?_

Unfortunately, there were no tea-drinking, crooked-toothed, uptight, super-white men at any of the tables.

"Ahh, _shit_." He swore as the cell phone's annoyingly unfazed voice stated that in no uncertain terms was his subpar phone service getting through the walls of Terry Benedict's ridiculous fortress of sin. _One of these days,_ he promised,_ I'll putting one of these millions to a solid cell phone plan before it gets blown on all the illegal parts._

"You alright?" The black haired man looked over at Rusty, politely concerned with the flickers of an inside joke twitching the corners of his mouth upwards.

"Fine, just shitty cell service anytime I walk between two walls. Should be used to it by now." A chuckle. "Uh, Dwight Cartwright at your service."

"Nice to meet you... Dwight. Garret Harris. I understand that it's proper manners to say 'it's a pleasure to meet you' before we trade useless information, but I hope you'll forgive my rudeness as you just lost me a thousand dollars in that last hand.."

Rusty raised his eyebrows, "Oh no, the pleasure is all mine."

The new man, this Garret, laughed. It was a real laugh that came from deep in his chest and gave Rusty a nice little shiver up his spinal cord. "Well, I suppose if we're to swap our equally boring life stories then I can lend you my phone."

Curiosity itched at the back of Rusty's brain, leading vague familiarity by the hand. So he asked the number one stupidest question for a con man, "You seem familiar, have we met?"

Garret raised his borderline freakishly green eyes to Rusty's, again with that twitch of a smile at the corners of his mouth. "Who knows, maybe we've met once or twice some drunken night."

"Mmm." Rusty pushed the brain itch back and dialed Danny's phone instead of asking another 'useless' question.

"Yeah?" Danny answered.

"What does this guy look like again?"

"Black hair, green eyes. Confident walk. Guy looks like he knows what he's doing, so my bet's on finding him either at high roller table or a low end table with one good pull. Stay inconspicuous. If this guy thinks we're watching him, don't know how he'll react."

Rusty hung up.

"Looking for someone?" Garrett inquired as he took back his cell.

"Yeah, business associate. Negotiating a merger today, but I just can't find the guy." Oh, God. The lying never seemed to grow old. It was like playing make believe, except the other person was truly convinced that the unicorn was coming.

"Well, I'm out." Garrett gathered his sizeable winnings and strolled to the door. As he began to round the corner of the slot machines, he called over his shoulder, "Hope you find this Potter guy, Rusty."

Before Rusty could quite remember that he hadn't given "Garrett" the names of either himself or the man he was looking for, Harry Potter was quite gone.

Rusty decided that, in the future, he'd leave the snooping, spying and recon business to Danny.


	5. What Happens When Harry's Bored

It had been two days since Harry Potter had been called into the Vegas heist.

The good news was the man had agreed to execute Danny's freakishly specific instructions for far less than they would find anywhere else. Most of the team thought he was a little loopy from the timezone change if he bargained that cheap, but none of them would look a gift Brit in the mouth. He kept his logic to himself, did his job and they were all content to leave it that way.

Bad news was that Rusty was loosing his mind.

Every time the shorter man opened his mouth to speak, Rusty's mind would fill in words that he had never said, disorienting the blonde and making his life into some twisted mad-lib. Sometimes when Harry was talking, Rusty would hear the words, husky and hurried, as if they were being given to his neck all in the rush of a breath. Mealtime was a jumble of deja vu. Strange things like the way Potter leaned toward a speaker or the rolling motion his fingers made when they picked up a glass triggered something, like a baby's hazy memories mixing with reality.

And, most concerning, even the brothers were beginning to notice the way Rusty zoned out like clockwork anytime he caught sight of the Brit's ass walking.

Anywhere.

Anytime.

Danny was rather piqued with his partner in crime's thoughts looking something like a cake baked without flour. Rusty was still Rusty, but the concentration that strung him all together had disappeared, leaving all the good stuff slopping around quite uselessly.

The worst part was that Rusty hadn't quite noticed yet.

Or he had, but couldn't be honest with himself about the root of the problem.

For that matter, Rusty had rather forgotten the root, or -in this case- night, of the problem.

Harry had noticed Rusty's distraction and realized its origins. Unsure whether to take it as a compliment to his chameleon abilities or a blow to his very-gay-but-still-very-manly pride, Harry had settled on a comfortable neutral position of delighting in his newfound teammate's confusion whilst basking in the mesmeric power his arse held over Rusty's eyes. And, of course, if he swayed his hips a _little_ more than normal as he walked out of rooms nowadays, well... Who the hell was watching?

Rusty, of course, didn't count.

Rusty had seen his arse sway out of a room naked, one cheek smeared with the remains of a complimentary toothpaste bottle that had exploded under pressure. As far as Harry was concerned, he now held an all-season arse watching pass. Even if he didn't quite remember all of the good bits, the little wizard had seen him frowning at a small tube of mint paste for an unreasonable amount of time and for the short wizard that was enough to justify a renewed membership.

Now, as Rusty glazed over once more, Harry let the smirk crawl up his face when he caught Danny's long-suffering sigh. Leaning near the door, Basher was the only one to witness the victorious twist of his friend's lips.

"Enjoying yourself?" Basher murmured at the passing man.

Pausing for a step, Harry turned his head just enough to look Bash in the eye without exposing his flashing teeth to the rest of the crew. "As if you aren't."

With a quick glance at Rusty's vaguely vacant expression, the answering grin that blossomed across Basher's face said everything.

Later that evening found Harry on the couch with a new rubix cube he had gotten from an odds and ends shop. He jiggled and shifted, wiggled and begged.

Then he threw it at the wall, hitting a generic hotel painting that was no doubt supposed to look very eloquent and pricey, but quite failed the effect when the rubix cube lodged itself through the center of its generically abstract, emotionally touching shape.

Harry took a moment to stare incredulously at the deadly cube before he let out a delighted laugh and hopped up to retrieve his new favorite pastime.

The rest of the room, which amounted to Rusty and the two brothers, went silent at the shatter of glass. Since Rusty had already been quiet, that mostly meant that Turk and Vigil had stopped slapping each other and grunting.

The brothers let out a quiet, "Whoa..."

Rusty took his gaze from Harry's newly abandoned spot on the couch, flicking his eyes to the messily executed painting. They stayed there a bit longer, blinking rapidly as if he was waking up.

"So, they let those in airports, but I have to leave my toothpaste at home?"

Harry turned to the rest of the room, hand still on the imbedded toy. "Well, they are campaigning rather hard against fresh breath these days. You know... Clean teeth and the terrorists win."

"Well, fresh breath has done some terrible things over the years." Rusty replied.

The brunette glanced back at Rusty before yanking the cube out with a small burst of aiding magic. "Ah, see, that's where you're wrong. It's not the products themselves, but the dentists behind them."

"A conspiracy?"

"Keep your eyes open. Be alert. Don't take the happy gas."

And then while Rusty debated between humor or incredulity, Harry took away his choice with a nicely timed exit. Arse swing- full throttle.

The worst thing about the Hypnotic Ass Effect, as the rest of the team had dubbed it, was that Rusty really had nothing else to do but sit around the hotel, watching the team, the television, sidewalk people and, apparently, Harry's ass.

Though Danny had picked the job, Rusty had made it happen. Most of the work he did was before the team was assembled. He worked out logistics with Danny, planning and nitpicking. He spent hours looking for equipment. He gathered the crew, scouring the states to look for the best conman, explosives expert, greaseman, all of it. By the time all of the eleven were sitting together in Reuben's house, most of the schematics were ironed out. So other than the occasional task for setup, Rusty's job was largely over.

Which set him up for days of nothing but the Hypnotic Ass Effect. Which amused Harry (who also had nothing to do as he required no amount of preparation in order to send out a pulse of raw magic) to no end.

So Rusty would spend his empty hours dazed and Harry would chuckle maniacally to himself. Every now and then someone would shake him out of it for a question or two, but mostly they all left it alone.

After all, they had stuff to do.

* * *

><p>The job went down without a hitch. Flawless, seamless, it was the kind of plan and execution that little thieves had wet dreams about on dark nights.<p>

Yen's planting went smoothly, even with his broken hand. Bash's explosives were as efficient as ever, getting the team into the vault without any unnecessary flair. The pre-recorded footage covered them all as they packed all the money into large SWAT bags.

And, of course, Harry got them passed the security lasers of doom.

He really didn't do much else during the robbery. At the appropriate time, he released a carefully regulated burst of energy, spreading it out like a blanket a ways over the city, carefully lowering it down for just a quick brush along the power lines and electronics before lifting and absorbing the magic back into his core. Just a whisper, less than a second. It was enough to jolt the electricity, sending the system out of whack long enough for Rusty and Danny to drop down the elevator shaft, but not enough exposure to ruin the wiring for good.

Careful, controlled.

Harry was rather good at doing this after an unspeakable incident in Brazil. He learned that sometimes it was better to knock out muggles devices, like cameras and tazers and hot tubs before doing certain things.

So really, his part was rather mundane. Boring, even.

The rioting and looting was entertaining at first, but soon grew old.

Finally he decided to go to the meeting spot.

The other eleven found their way to the fountain much later to find the little wizard sleeping stretched out on the railing, looking for all the world like a contented tom cat.

He woke up shortly after to eleven faces looming over him. He was understandably startled and punched Turk square in the eye.

Harry stood hurriedly, leaning back against the stone. The others were silent (aside from the cursing Turk), watching the fountain in a peaceful silence, an unspoken '_we kicked ass' _hanging between them.

Harry was rather bored again.

"Well, then, let's see my money, shall we?"

Danny reached into his pocket, pulling out a stack of bills and handed the roll over to the bouncing Englishman.

"Brilliant. Nice working with you," he turned to Linus, smiling, and handed him a card, "Give me a call, I got a job worked up for that Andy Warhol piece that I think you'd do wonderfully in."

Then he walked away.

Rueben spoke, puffing at his thick cigar, "I can't believe that guy. How much did you say he took?"

"Ten thousand," Danny replied.

"No business sense."

"Well," Danny said slowly, "He told me he just wanted enough to pay for his airfare and some coffee on the way."


	6. And After

It took Rusty about three minutes to figure out he was attracted to Harry Potter (for the third time).

It took him substantially longer to puzzle out that, yes, not only had they met, but that they had also had sex. Rather hot, fiery bathroom sex, some alleyway bump and grind with some contorted Twister hotel bed fucking to even it all out.

Really, he didn't know how he could have forgotten it all.

Though to be fair he had remembered most of it, just couldn't quite recall _who _it was exactly that helped him get his rocks off. He cherished that time over the footboard for a particularly long time.

And the whiskey may have factored in a bit.

Rusty had always been a proficient drinker, but there was enough alcohol that night to out a fairly fat panda to sleep. Errr... Maybe that was off. Enough to fill a bathtub at least. (Which explained why he peed so much that morning after, a tidbit he had hmmed and hawwed over a bit. He just didn't think his bladder was quite that big.) Quite simply, a man's brain was not built to handle that much fermented beverage, something had to give. Which was, apparently, the face of Harry Potter. The man he put his cock in.

Really, he thought, it wasn't fair that that was what got tossed. If he had lost, say, what the grain of the wood the bar was built of or the pattern of mildew spots that looked like Jackie Chan's face in the shower (both facts he recalled distressingly clearly), then he would have been a much happier, much _busier_ and far less idiotic man during the Bellagio heist.

But he didn't remember, didn't follow up, so he didn't get laid and instead just sort of stared like a middle school boy peeping in the girl's showers. Or the guy's showers, you know, if he swung that way.

Hindsight's always nasty business. Actions that seem perfectly logical at the time, then looking back... _Well, fuck. That was dumb._ Which just about summed up everything Rusty felt when he came to the realization that he had fucked Harry Potter sideways. (And upside down, which was really nice, but mostly a byproduct of falling most of the way of the bed and being to drunk to do anything but finish and fall down.)

Now, a couple weeks after leaving Vegas to move back to LA, there was nothing to do but sit around and think of something to buy with his money. (Usually snobby wine and snobby clothes.)

And call himself an idiot, which happened quite frequently.

And think about Harry. (Which usually led up to calling himself an idiot.)

He knew Basher talked to him on a semi-regular basis.

Danny, well Danny had his own ex-wife related problems, so he and Rusty hadn't gossiped recently. (They didn't gossip, they were men, they _conversed_ and shared very _vital_ information.)

But Linus was on the East Coast, last he heard, helping Harry with the Warhol Self-portrait that was all the rage at that last art auction in New York. _Linus_. Kid was, well, a kid. Surely not as worthy as Rusty was.

Pfft. Amateur.

Christ, he needed a drink. Time for that snobby wine to come into play.

It was near four am in California time, he wasn't sure how that translated over to Where-Ever-the-Fuck, Europe, but that was when the phone rang, his cell lighting up the room through the fabric of his pocket. It was probably some unholy time over there, too.

Rusty's head hurt, like someone had given him to much wine. _Oh, wait, that was me._

Either way that ringtone was like the devil's doorbell, impaling his brain with it's shill little notes. He considered going back to sleep, but dismissed it as impossible, highly unlikely and probably painful.

Rusty delved into his pocket, fishing through gum wrappers and receipts to grab the cellphone from the Realm of Mother-in-laws and All Things Evil. And promptly blinded himself with the glowing little screen.

Flipping it open, "Who the fuck is this?" He wanted it to be angry and loud, but against his will the words emerged hoarse, quiet and laced with a sharp whine.

"Harry Potter. Is this a bad time, Mr. Ryan?"

There it was, that English accent from the hotel room. Boom, sober Rusty. (Well not sober, but at least awake and aware.)

"Uh, no, no. I was just getting up. Exercise in the mornings to get the blood flowing and all that."

Rusty blamed his stupidity on the lingering hangover and not at all on the nonexistant need to prove himself a worthy candidate for someone who _clearly_ already thought he was hot and shit.

"In that case, Mr. Ryan, I was wondering if you had anything scheduled for today, tomorrow?"

Yes, sober Rusty moves in for the kill. _Casual, keep it casual, remember he wants you more than you want him. You got this in the bag, stud._

"No, not that I can think of," he said leisurely, trying to keep his headache out of his voice, "Why do you ask?"

"Really? I was under the impression you had a flight today," the British man said.

And really all that Rusty could manage (again he blamed the hangover) was, "Huh?"

_Smooth, Ryan. _

Harry continued as if he hadn't spoken. "It's a shame really, because I was rather hoping that since you would be in the country you would be available for a job, but I guess if you aren't I can find someone else suitable..."

"No! I mean, well, I must have forgotten my planner somewhere. What's the job?"

"_The Storm on the Sea of Galilee, _are you familiar with it?"

"Isn't that that painting that was stolen back in 1990? I thought it's been missing for ten years?"

"Well, I found it, are you interested?"

_I'd be in if you were stealing the Pope's toothbrush, good take is just a bonus. A really cool bonus._

"Yes... When exactly did you say my flight was? I must have lost the information."

"Today, flight 467, Seaflight Air, LAX. Five thirty."

"Five thirty? That's in," Rusty sat up and jerked to the side, looking at the glowing red numbers at his bedside, "an hour! Jesus, I'm never going to make that!"

"Ah, I didn't calculate transportation into the ticket. My apologies, Rusty. Though if you want to catch that flight, I suggest you run."

As Rusty grabbed a pair of shoes (no socks) and his wallet, it didn't occur to him that Harry Potter clearly bought the tickets and he could call back to demand a new one. He didn't even think to buy himself a flight with the obscene mound of currency that he was so indecisive about the day before. Hell, Rusty didn't even take his suitcase.

He just ran.

_Fin._

* * *

><p><em>Fun stuff. I might do a sequel or a one shot in this vein. But for now I'm finishing Man in Fangorn. Then we'll see. I've already got some one shots in a couple different fandoms bouncing around,<em> a<em>_ couple Legend of Zelda, another HP/Lord of the Rings (oneshot) and half a dozen Twilight ideas bouncing around. Which is ridiculous, because I despise Twilight, but something about it makes me want to poke.__

_As per usual, tell me what you think about Ocean's Extra, my ideas, what you'd like to see, whatever. _

_If you love it or hate it, either way, let me know. Or maybe you think my writing's so mediocre you can't even bother to care enough either way, tell me. _


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